


A First Time For Everything

by orphan_account



Series: the prom au [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian calls Maxwell, looking for a place to spend the night.  A prequel to Prom focusing on Max and Dorian, but can be read on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A First Time For Everything

**Author's Note:**

> The age difference here is 18/20, with the younger half of the ship still in high school. If that makes you uncomfortable, you may want to avoid this fic!
> 
> For the record, Maxwell's ringtone is [She's So Mean](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8WLa6umgdw) by Matchbox Twenty.

When Maxwell was still in high school, he offered a few of his sister's friends the option to call him any time they needed a ride. He's painfully aware of how bad Dorian and Cassandra's relationships with their families are, and Max has personally needed to call his parents to bail him out of bad situations a few times. He'd rather his sister not lose a friend to a drunk driving or something. The only time anyone had taken him up on it was when Cassandra had missed the late bus after lacrosse practice during a fight with her uncle.

But Maxwell never forgotten the look on Dorian's face when he'd made the offer. That mix of genuine amazement and disbelief tends to stick with you, especially when you have a big stupid crush on the boy directing those emotions in your direction. The two years they have between them wouldn't have meant much, but the whole 'one of my sister's best friends' thing had made it even more awkward than most of Max's crushes. Not _quite_ as misguided as his fling with his freshman year roommate, but close.

He doesn't expect it to still be relevant. The crush _or_ the fact that Dorian has his phone number. Maxwell graduated high school the year before last, and now goes to college an hour away from their hometown. His sister and her friends are seniors, most of them with cars of their own. He's probably the last person on their list of who to call if they need a hand.

And yet, when his cheerful pop music ring tone sends him scrambling for his phone, the name on the screen is 'Dorian'. He picks it up after a moment of stunned staring.

“Hello?” Maxwell asks, unable to keep himself from sounding utterly confused. Maybe it's his sister, on her friend's phone?

“Ah. Hello, Maxwell,” No, that's definitely Dorian. His voice sounds shaky in a way Max has never heard before.

“Dorian? What's up?” Maxwell asks, pushing his history textbooks out of the way so he can sit down on his bed.

“I've... found myself in a bit of a predicament,” Dorian says, with the words carefully measured like he's choosing them with a great deal of thought.

“Yeah?”

“My father attempted to set me up with the daughter of one of his work friends. I wasn't having it, of course, so now he's looking to drag me home to 'discuss the matter'. He's knocking on your parents' front door as we speak, if your sister's text messages were anything to go by. Any chance I might sleep in your dorm room for the night?”

Well, _that_ wasn't what Maxwell was expecting. It takes him a beat to process all that information, and he catches himself nodding his agreement instead of voicing it. His face goes warm, and he's glad that Dorian can't see the way that he's blushing.

“I, uh-- Sure! Yeah, you can totally sleep over!” Oh _god_ , he sounds like a twelve year old trying to invite someone to a slumber party for the first time. He squeezes his eyes shut into an embarrassed wince and pinches the bridge of his nose with the hand not cradling his phone to his ear.

“You'll need to pick me up, you know,” Dorian replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. Max is already on his feet, grabbing for car keys and socks.

“Where are you right now?” Max asks, fingers crossed that it's somewhere he knows. Half of their hometown is still a mystery; when he comes home for holidays or visits, he still uses his GPS all the time.

“Hiding out in the McDonalds by the high school,” Dorian replies, sounding as if the words are physically painful to force out. Maxwell grins to himself. He has distinct memories of Dorian bitching about fast food.

“Last place your dad'll look, I'm guessing?” Max asks, and Dorian chuckles lightly on the other end of the line.

“Oh, aren't you clever. Or observant, at the very least. How soon can I expect you?”

“I can be there in 45 minutes if the traffic's alright. They close at eight, right?”

“You should be ashamed to know that.”

Maxwell laughs, struggling to get on his socks one-handed.

“I'll probably get there a little after they close. You got a coat?”

“Yes, though it's designed more for fashion than for warm, so you may want to hurry.”

“Jeeze, Dorian, we're going to have to have a talk about your priorities,” Maxwell says, frowning fretfully to himself. “I'll see you soon, okay? Stay warm and safe.”

“You are disgustingly sweet, you know that?” It's a compliment disguised as an insult, and it makes Max blush.

“Um. Thank you?”

Dorian laughs.

“Goodbye, Maxwell.”

*

It takes Max a little less than an hour to get to Dorian, which is plenty of time for his to consider the situation, and even to call Evelyn to confirm it. He'd been so eager to offer help that he hadn't properly thought through why Dorian needed help in the first place. How had 'my coworker has a girl your age' turned into Dorian hiding out in a McDonalds?

He's good and anxious by the time he stops the car. He was going to get out and go find Dorian, but pretty much the second the car is parked, his passenger side door is open.

“ _Fuck_ , it is _freezing_ ,” Dorian complains as he climbs inside.

Maxwell looks him over, and his mouth drops open.

“Dorian, that isn't a coat! That's basically a vest!”

“And I look _amazing_ in it, don't you think?” Dorian replies, his teeth chattering. Maxwell reluctantly agrees, but refuses to say so.

“It's February, Dorian,” He points out, and Dorian gives him a _look_.

Before he can really say anything, though, Maxwell is reaching into the backseat and pulling a fleece blanket over.

“Here,” He says, draping it over Dorian's lap. The look on Dorian's face shifts into surprise, with just a hint of something softer around the eyes.

“You just... keep this in your car?” He asks, eyebrow raised. Maxwell smiles sheepishly.

“In case it ever breaks down. Don't want to freeze to death, right?”

“You worry about everything and everyone, don't you?” Dorian asks, an accusation wrapped in a long-suffering sigh. Max just nods.

“Yep, I kinda do. Worked out, though, right?”

Dorian wraps the blanket further around himself, wiggling to get comfortable.

“Indeed it did.”

*

On the drive back to Max's dorm, Dorian gets 4 phone calls before finally just turning the phone off altogether. He makes fun of Max's music taste (“Taylor Swift? Really?”) while he fiddles with his playlists, fills Max in on the newest updates to the gossip mill (“Mr. Arishok told Isabela she was a 'degenerate thief' so Hawke punched him and now she's expelled.”), and, above all, said absolutely nothing about the situation with his father.

Max parks the car as close to the dorm building as possible, and lets Dorian bring his car blanket with him so he won't freeze on the five minute walk out of the parking lot.

Dorian sighs with relief once they're through the door, and Maxwell laughs good-naturedly.

“You're such a lizard. Any cold at all and you might as well be dead,” He teases, and Dorian nudges him with his elbow.

“Cruel, Maxwell. Cruel and inaccurate. I am much too handsome to be a _lizard_.”

Max is laughing and wondering if it'd be too forward to agree with him when they reach his door. He unlocks it and steps inside before he realizes that Dorian isn't following.

“Hmm?” He hums questioningly when he turns around to find Dorian staring at his door. Max follows his gaze and finds himself looking at the gay pride flag he'd taped there on the first day.

“Oh. You knew I'm gay though, right?” He asks, frowning. He'd been in the GSA during high school and Evelyn comes with him to the pride parade in the city every year, it wasn't exactly a secret.

Dorian shakes his head, less like he's disagreeing and more like he's shaking something off.

“No, I knew. Just... not so accustomed to people being open about it,” Dorian says sadly, still examining the flag. The pieces of the evening click into place.

“Dorian... Did you come out to your dad tonight?” Maxwell asks, hesitant to hear the answer. Dorian, however, simply laughs at him.

“ _God_ , no. I haven't even told _Cassandra_ yet,” Dorian says, and Maxwell is now _very_ confused.

“I'm glad you're comfortable telling me, then,” Maxwell starts, hoping he isn't fucking this up beyond repair. “But, uh. If it's okay to ask... Why me?”

“Because you're going to find out in a moment either way,” Dorian says, with a strange grimness to the statement. Maxwell cocks his head to the side.

“Huh?”

Any actual questions that might have followed are lost when Dorian pushes him through the doorway. With one hand, he grabs Maxwell by the collar, and with the other, he swings the door shut behind them. 

And then Dorian kisses him.

Maxwell is stunned for a long moment, which probably leads to that first kiss being about as interactive and engaging as kissing a dead fish. It isn't until he comes to the realization that the hand Dorian has fisted in his jacket is shaking that his brain comes back online.

Maxwell lets his eyes fall closed and kisses back.

That initial lunge had lined them up poorly, so he rests a hand along Dorian's jaw, gently guiding him to tilt his head until they slide into place. The other hand he puts just above Dorian's elbow; he's surprised to find skin. He hadn't noticed the blanket fall from Dorian's shoulders.

Dorian sighs softly and lets go of Max's shirt. Instead, he brings both hands up to slide into Maxwell's hair, holding him so firmly that it's almost like he's trying to keep him from running away.

Dorian kisses like he learned how to from reading articles on the internet; he keeps trying new tricks, too rapid-fire and clumsy to be from any real experience. Maxwell is gentle, coaxing him into something slower and more sensual, less desperate. Dorian melts against him, hands clenching and unclenching restlessly in Max's hair as he hands over the reins.

It isn't until Maxwell sucks Dorian's lower lip into his mouth and Dorian _moans_ , low and tortured and desperate, that Maxwell remembers what's going on and pulls away.

He's immediately tempted to launch right back into the kiss, the way Dorian is looking at him. His pupils are blown, his cheeks are flushed, and the look in his eyes can really only be described as hungry. Maxwell gulps, and that only makes it worse, because he can see the way Dorian's gaze darts down to watch him swallow, hear the way it puts a hitch in his panting breath.

“That-- I must admit, that went better than I was expecting,” Dorian says, smoothing out wrinkles in Maxwell's jacket. Maxwell takes a deep breath to center himself before he tries to talk, purposefully ignoring the fact that he can _tell_ Dorian is hard under those ridiculously tight jeans.

“You... Is this why you called me?” He asks, not sure what answer he wants to receive. Dorian hesitates, then nods.

“As it turns out, defying my father's wishes makes me bold,” He admits. “And you've always been a bit of a ginger wet dream, you know.”

It's really, really stupid that Maxwell suddenly becomes self-conscious of his freckles. At least it doesn't last long, because the phrase 'wet dream' is way more interesting.

“You were into me?” He asks, mildly amazed. Dorian laughs and shakes his head.

“ _Were_?” He replies, and Maxwell ducks his head sheepishly.

“Okay, okay, evidence is contrary to the past-tense, I get it. Guess that's a lot of 'oh god I'm into my little sister's friend' angst that could have been avoided.”

Dorian chuckles, but there's a genuine pleasure to it, given the way he's smiling.

“One more question before I kiss you again... You ever done this before?” Maxwell asks, smiling as gently as possible to lessen the ego-blow that question always is. Dorian sighs heavily.

“Is my virginity really _that_ noticable?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Can't be helped, then. No, I've never quite had the guts to go for it,” Dorian admits, sounding a bit unhappy about it but not terribly embarrassed. The idea settles in Max's head and he brightens right up.

“So, if I gave you a handjob, I'd be the first?” He asks, halfway to a purr. It's a surprisingly appealing idea, and it only gets more appealing when Dorian's eyes snap to his.

“You-- You're offering?” He asks, the eager hope in his voice so familiar that it almost makes Maxwell laugh. He's only twenty, his sex drive isn't all that different than it was at eighteen, and the first time someone else had touched him had been _magical_.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to,” Maxwell tells him, grinning just before Dorian catches him off-guard with a passionate kiss. His technique is only slightly improved from a moment ago, but the understanding that underlies it makes the whole thing that much better. He walks Dorian backwards towards his bed, borderline religiously glad that he has a single.

“Always did wonder what it'd be like to touch you,” He mumbles into Dorian's ear, and the way the warm body against him shivers is positively delightful. Following his instinct, he nips at Dorian's earlobe, and this time he gets a groan instead of a shiver.

“Good?” Maxwell asks, pushing Dorian by the shoulders to encourage him to lay down on the bed. The younger man follows his hinting, leaving Max looming over him in the light of the lamps that Maxwell had never turned off before leaving to pick Dorian up.

Dorian doesn't answer him at first, and when he does talk, it isn't to ask Maxwell's question.

“What are you waiting for?” He asks, and Maxwell laughs, grabbing the bottle of hand lotion off the desk chair he uses as a bedside table.

“I'm waiting for you to take your pants off,” Max teases, and isn't actually terribly surprised when Dorian wiggles straight out of his jeans. He's not exactly shy, and nothing pushes past body insecurity like the promise of attention for your dick. Maxwell curls himself around Dorian's side, where he can easily drape an arm over Dorian's waist for access to his groin. It also pushes Dorian's hip against the front of his pants, which is nice, because as much as this is about Dorian first and foremost, he'd really needed something solid on his own cock.

It isn't exactly the smoothest Max has ever been, but he _does_ manage to get the lotion open and into his palm without getting it all over everything, so that's an accomplishment. Doubly so when he wraps his hand around Dorian's cock and gets a punched-out moan for his troubles. Maxwell kisses softly along Dorian's neck, picking up a slow, steady rhythm of strokes. Dorian squirms against him, his hips bucking into each pull. He watches Dorian's face while he does it; the way his eyebrows knit, his teeth close on his lower lip, his eyes squeeze closed, all of it is _amazing_.

Might as well tell him.

“Fuck, you're fucking _beautiful_ ,” He pants into Dorian's ear, and he jolts like Max had punched him in the stomach.

In spite of how physically reactive he is, Dorian restrains himself to little noises, tiny whimpers and sighs, until Maxwell rolls his thumb over the head of his cock.

Then he whines, turning his head and pulling Maxwell in for a frantic, sloppy kiss. Maxwell groans in response, swiping the pad of his thumb one, twice, three times over the steadily leaking slit. He can feel Dorian's thighs trembling and the kissing has devolved into Dorian panting against his mouth, but it's good, it's really good.

When the dick in his hand starts to twitch tellingly, Max hums his approval.

“That's it, come from me, gorgeous,” He murmurs, and Dorian makes an agonized noise. A split second later and a spurt of hot fluid catches on Maxwell's fingers.

“Yeah, just like that, there you go,” Max coos, trying to time his strokes with the pulses of Dorian's orgasm. Once Dorian's cock starts to go soft, Maxwell lets go and wraps his arms around Dorian's middle, hugging him close.

After a short time when there's silence except for the panting that fills the room, Dorian speaks up.

“You know, I've watched my fair share of porn, and nobody dirty talks quite like you do.”

Maxwell laughs, smothering his bright grin in the weird vest-jacket Dorian is _still wearing_.

**Author's Note:**

> And there we go, the first in the 'like thirty times' Dorian and Maxwell have made out before Dorian's prom. This is what I do when there's a blizzard and I'm not feeling well. Smut. You're welcome, internet.


End file.
